


three times daisy was on top (and another time she was on top)

by zauberer_sirin



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Director Daisy Johnson, Established Relationship, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Strap-Ons, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 13:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13952568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Daisy has a preference.





	three times daisy was on top (and another time she was on top)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts).



**one.**

Daisy waits for the inevitable moment - all men she’s been with have done that, no matter how enthusiastic she showed to be about this position - when Coulson grabs her by the hips and turns swaps their places on the bed, when he pulls her under his weight and traps her in his arms. She won’t mind - she wants to be loved, even if it’s in a slightly imperfect form. It’s their first time, she wouldn’t expect the guy to lie there and let her have her way.

Yet, she keeps moving, rocking her hips as Coulson lifts his hands - not to grab her and push her onto her back, but to flatten his palms against her stomach, her ribcage, to cup her breasts and fondle her nipples.

“Is this okay?” she checks.

“What?”

“Me on top?”

Coulson smiles - he looks beautiful smiling like that.

“If it’s okay with you,” he tells her.

She nods. A part of her (Catholic education never freaking leaves a girl, does it?) has always thought that her preference for being on top during sex is wrong, or impure, or at best, it’s just _not romantic_. Especially for a first time. But she looks at Coulson - and the way Coulson is looking at her like she is… like she’s… well, something she’s not, obviously - and she can’t think of anything that would make this moment _not romantic_.

 

**two.**

In her office, in the chair that is unofficially his, the one that used to be his when he was the one behind the desk, the one Daisy decided to give back to him, even if he sits opposite the Director now. 

His chair, well-worn and silent leather reacting to their movement. Coulson’s tie, wrapped over his eyes, a new, total feeling of control. All these nice things he does for her. She is still wearing her suit jacket and shirt too, the muscles on the back of her neck hard as stone after hour upon hour of meetings, and exhausting speeches where she tried to convince powerful people that she and her people had the right to exist. Coulson at her side, just like he is under her right now. Supporting his Director.

 

**three.**

“Careful,” she tells Coulson, even though he's the one injured, or maybe she is saying that to herself, urging her body to slower than before, gentler than usual.

“It's okay, Daisy, it's just a couple of bruised ribs, I'm not going to break.”

“Oh I don't know,” she teases him, rolling her hips ever slower than she needs to to be careful, just to torture him. “I don't know if you've noticed but you're putting on some years.”

He laughs and then it turns into groaning and then a feeling that runs from Coulson’s body to hers, like electricity entering her bloodstream. She likes the feeling of him between her legs, supporting her weight, the way him breathing lifts her and lowers her hips rhythmically. It feels a bit like riding a horse - not that’s she’s done that many times, it was like twice, when she was a teenager and she spent one weekend with a well-off family who had horses. But yeah, something like that, perhaps. It freezes time, feeling Coulson under her like that, rather than the other way around. 

Daisy draws her hand over the bandages around Coulson’s chest, frustrated that she is not able to see the whole of him, even the bruises she wants, she’s greedy for. It was her fault, after all; Coulson following her into danger, once more. He always did that, didn’t he? Even before it became his job to do so. Even before they became lovers. Those are _her bruises_ too, they belong to her. 

He belongs to her, she thinks, holding Coulson tight -yet so carefully- between her legs. 

 

**four.**

She’s seen Coulson under her before, at her mercy, so to speak, but never like this. He has his head thrown back, a thick film of sweat covering his brow and neck, he’s almost writhing in complicated pleasure.

“You okay?” she asks.

Coulson chuckles, and she can feel it through her whole body, in a way she’s never felt it before. She clenches, the pleasant discomfort of the straps between her legs taking her by surprise.

“Oh, God, Daisy, _yes_ , I’m okay,” Coulson reassures her. She smirks, still stunned at how reserved Coulson could be out of the bedroom and how open and shameless inside it. It makes her wonder if he was just like this with other lovers - part of Daisy wants to be indulgent and vain and think he’s only like this because he’s with her.

To be honest she didn’t know what she was going to feel about this; she admitted upfront that sex toys weren’t her thing (maybe cause she thought they were an eccentric expense, and she has never had this kind of money before), so her experience was very limited. She enjoyed the preparatives, browsing websites together, choosing and buying the strap and some extra lube (which Coulson insisted be flavored and that says everything about the guy, doesn’t it?). That led to interesting conversations (and not-conversations) that night. Coulson commenting on how much the tech had improved betraying more than he intended. And Daisy liked how it felt when he helped her adjust the harness, but it made her feel shy too.

“You can go faster,” Coulson tells her, her thrusts careful and slow until now. He draws her hands to his thighs and Daisy digs her fingers into the flesh, holding him tight as she fucks him.

She often thinks about the trust it must take for him - for anyone - to let her body get close to his; her body capable of such destruction. This was something else. He let her be inside him. He _wanted_ her inside him. Daisy could destroy planets with her hands, yet Coulson trusts her with this.

Trusts her _like this_.

It’s arousing, yes. 

She reaches to wrap her hand around Coulson’s cock, resting hard against his belly. He stops her.

“No,” he says. “Too much.”

She nods, pulling her hand away.

The prologue had been long - lots of lube, massages, cushions under Coulson’s back, Daisy getting a bit self-conscious about the whole thing - but once inside him Coulson doesn’t last long, lost in the novelty of it all.

As soon as she pulls out of him, bringing her hand between them to caress the reddened skin. Coulson turns on his side, letting out a sigh of contentment and curling his body and softly purring like a cat, muttering some words of appreciation. He looks young and raw and Daisy gets assaulted by a desire to wrap him in a warm blanket.

She pulls the covers up to his chin instead, effectively tucking him in.

“Happy birthday, Phil,” she tells him.

He turns around, lying on his shoulder and dirty-talking to her as Daisy finishes getting herself off. She doesn’t last long either.


End file.
